


A Warden's Family

by redflowersinthewind282, Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Coming of Age, Found Family, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24056212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redflowersinthewind282/pseuds/redflowersinthewind282, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: Jeanne wanted to be more than she could, after her Chevalier father's death. She wanted to matter. In Orlais, there was only one place she could go to become the warrior she'd dreamed of being: the Wardens.Joining wasn't quite as easy as walking up and asking!
Relationships: Riordan/Warden (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 10





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Writing one nonprotagonist is never easy, especially figuring out how to bring in a reader. Writing a story about two is even harder! This collaboration was a delight in every way!

The Château du Gris was an imposing thing in Montsimmard: its only match in the city was the circle tower which bordered closely on Lake Celestine. The chateau was raised above the city on a hill holding a much smaller town inside. The wardens had occupied the Chateau for ages - Jeanne couldn’t remember much of her history lessons, they had stopped unfortunately before things got interesting. The walls were large and imposing, to someone from Montsimmard they might be comforting perhaps but Jeanne knew they were a show of force.

“Attack us,” the thick grey stone dared, its numerous towers rising above as a show of force. It was much more impressive than the fort at Valum. Jeanne knew she would love it here.

The city of Montsimmard was pleasant enough, the blue roofs of the city matched the sky perfectly and the sun reflected off of the bright white marble mined from the quarries. The city was known for its vibrancy, as it had made itself a center of art and music. Le Palais Feleon was widely known as the best place to learn the ways of the masters outside of Val Royeax. But this was not what Jeanne was here for.

Jeanne was making her way to the west, towards the Chateau du Gris rather than to the artist’s quarter at the north end of the city. The road sloped upwards towards the fort, it’s grey cobblestones uneven and digging into Jeanne’s worn boots. She had walked here from Valum. Her mother needed the horse more than she did for her business trips to Val Royeax. Besides, the Order would just give one to her once she joined.

Her grey eyes flickered up to the banners hanging on the walls of the fort, the grey griffon waving in the breeze. She tightened her jaw and kept walking up the long road towards the fort, ignoring the ache in her legs and feet as she climbed the hill. They would accept her, they’d have to. Jeanne was the daughter of a chevalier, the need to fight was in her blood.

The hill was steep, but she’d walked through tougher roads before. She could see the steel gate in the distance, a couple of wardens standing by the sides speaking to each other, more relaxed than guards should be in her opinion. Darkspawn hadn’t attacked Montsimmard since the second blight but that wasn’t an excuse to not be vigilant. Jeanne brushed the few strands of hair out of her face as she came closer to the gate, brushing any dirt off of her dress. Appearance was everything in Orlais, she needed to look perfect.

**

The woman at the gate was a few years older than Jeanne. “Yes, traveller? Do you have news of a darkspawn attack?” She glanced up and down. “If it is bandits, you must speak with the city guard, not the Wardens.”

“No darkspawn or bandits.” Jeanne shifted her silk cloak to the side, revealing the sword she had taken from her mother's room. “I’m here to speak to the person in charge of recruitment.”

The man on the other side of the woman grinned and looked over at the woman, shrugging. Jeanne's eyes narrowed under her mask.

“Of course Madame, just through the gate. You’ll find her in the courtyard training the newest recruits.” The other guard bowed with a sly grin on his face, Jeanne could barely resist the urge to roll her eyes at the display.

“Merci.” Jeanne said sharply as she walked through the gate. The road was more even inside, the stone more flat and polished than the ones on the road, more hustle and bustle on the inside of the fort than the outside, Jeanne noted. When was the last time the Wardens marched from Orlais?

The courtyard was busy, people in grey warden uniforms moving across the yard to reach the other side of the building, a few merchants here or there trying to peddle their wares to the wardens. Jeanne’s eyes were drawn to the busiest section of the large courtyard, roped off from the other side as men and a few women trained with swords and bows.

“Your shield is too low, raise it unless you want an arrow where your eyes should be!” She heard a woman shout from the side of the training area. Jeanne set her sights on her, this must be the woman she needed to speak to. She stepped quickly towards the training yard as one of the recruits was knocked flat on the ground.

“Don’t just lie there on your back like a housewife Luc, get back up!” The woman walked over towards the young man picking him up from the ground. “You need to be faster on your feet, any hesitation can get you killed.”

“Yes, Warden-Constable.” The man replied before stepping back into training. The woman sighed and moved back to where she was standing before.

“Again.” She leaned back against the walls of the courtyard, surveying the scene in front of her before noticing Jeanne moving towards her. Jeanne avoided the two men swinging training swords at each other. Glancing over, she noted that Luc was now angling his shield slightly higher against his opponent, like Papa used to. “Do you need something Madame? Or have you come to gawk at our recruits?”

“Just observing for now.” Jeanne glanced back at the woman. “I want to join the Wardens.”

“Oh?” The woman raised an eyebrow at Jeanne, looking her up and down. She moved towards her. “And what makes you think we accept just anyone that walks through our gates?”

“I’m not just anyone.” Jeanne replied, glaring at the woman. She stood tall although that hardly mattered as short as she was.

“No, you’re just some noble girl who wants a bit of excitement in her life who will wash out in a few days' time. Spare us all the trouble and just go home.” The woman waved her off dismissively.

“How dare you, I-” The woman interrupted her.

“You thought we would accept you based on that stupid mask on your face but this is not the Academie, we don’t have to cater to noble brats.” Jeanne’s hand had raised the second she had finished her sentence but her hand was stopped midway to the woman’s cheek. Jeanne glared at the person that had caught her hand, an older man with a narrowly trimmed beard glanced between Jeanne and the other woman.

**

He watched the shouting with the usual boredom. There was only so much to do, especially as his patrol had returned three days ago, empty-handed. There were no Darkspawn to the West - at least not in the deep forests. The nobles had likely made up stories to get the Wardens to clear out the poachers.  _ Again. Merde.  _ He’d have rather been assigned to the far South, or to the far Western patrol to watch the Abyssal Rift and listen to the Old God’s heartbeat, too low to reach safely.  _ There,  _ they had their duties.  _ There,  _ he felt useful. Worthy.

Well, perhaps he would be lucky and draw that for his next patrol.

He could tell the Warden-Constable was on her last shreds of patience, so he meandered over. It was Orlais, and sometimes there was still the assumption that since divine power was held in a woman’s hands, secular must be held by a man’s. He caught the hand before it could strike - or cause a larger incident.

“What is this?” He looked the girl up and down. Her hair was well-trimmed under the grime, tied back in something that looked ‘practical,’ even if it wasn’t. A sword with some signs of care - but those signs were days old. Boots meant for riding, not walking. Her clothes were of good quality and chosen to flatter her, even if they were no longer as clean. Nothing hid the silver mask on her face, though. Noble. Not a very high-ranking one - or one who had lost her family’s favor. He kept his lip from curling, even after he noticed just how soft her hands were.

_ Merde.  _ He hated young lovers.

“Your beloved is not here. If they ran away, it was not to the Wardens.”

“I’m not here for a lover.” She snapped at him, looking between him and Claude.

He dropped the woman’s hand. “Then why are you here?”

It was the Warden-Constable who answered. “She claims she wants to Join.” Louise spit onto the dirt, then turned back to her recruits. “Quit gallivanting, I can see you stopped your drills! Merde! Do you think the darkspawn will let you eavesdrop on a conversation!”

Burdot shook his head. “Go home, girl,” he said. “It’s a hard life and you’re not suited for it.”

“A hard life is what I’m after, there’s nothing for me at home. I want to fight!” The girl insisted, clenching her fists at her side. “Do you not want people who will fight for you?”

Of course he had to get himself involved in this. Then again, if she had almost struck Louise...well, that would have ended the issue entirely. In either case, he started walking toward the forge. The blacksmith was off to Orzammar to talk with a compatriot there, so it was both shadowed and cool. On a day like this, those benefits were valuable. The girl followed him.

“To be a Warden, you need to be able to fight. Have you even held that sword? A dagger? A bow, perhaps? The Warden-Constable has already decided you don’t have the skills we need.” He sighed after he rattled off the questions with no response. “This is no Blight, and thank Andraste herself it isn’t. There is no need for an army of fools that can be thrown in the Archdemon’s path.” 

_ Merde,  _ he thought again. He sounded far too much like Riordan. If only the man was here, but Duncan had needed his assistance.  _ That’s what I get for sleeping with a Ferelden.  _

Burdot tried one more time. “If you want to fight, why not ask your parents for an armsmaster to teach you?”

“My father would have been more than willing to teach me himself but he joined the Maker’s side six years ago. After his death our patron abandoned us.” The girl followed him like a dog after a bone, clearly assuming he was the one she needed to convince to let her into the order. “Make no mistake about my mask monsieur, it is the only sign of nobility my family has left.”

“Burdot will do, Senior Warden Burdot.” He studied her again. She had no armor, but… “How did you get here?”

“I walked,” The girl crossed her arms, studying him in turn. “Senior Warden Burdot, my mother needs our horse when she travels to Val Royeaux to sell our fabric. Besides Valum is not too far from Montsimmard and the bandits aren’t too troublesome if you know where they like to hide.”

He ignored the sword on her hip, but reached out to the rack and pulled off two blunted blades instead. He offered one to her. They were light, but that would do. “Here. Take it.”

She did, fumbling some. The girl tested the weight of the sword in her arm. It was much heavier than a proper one would be, ill suited for a girl her size. But one cannot expect to have proper equipment all the time, and there were few swords ready for her height or build. He kept his face blank.

“En garde.”

It didn’t take more than a few minutes for her arm to start shaking, and another one or two for the sword to fall from her hand as he met each stroke with lazy ease. On the other hand, she didn’t stop. “Ask for some dinner. I have a short patrol at dawn. You can come, or you can leave.”

“I’ll be there.” She spoke through gritted teeth as she picked herself up from the ground. She used the sleeve of her dress to clean some of the grime off of her mask, and put the sword back before she turned and walked away.

He put his own practice blade back before brushing a hand against the worn hilt of his own sword, sheathed at his side. “Well,” he said to himself, “she remembered to care for it. Perhaps she isn’t lying.”

**

Jeanne sat a little bit farther away than the rest of the recruits, the looks she was a bit used to. The looks that say “You don’t belong here.” But they didn’t get to decide that, no one did. So Jeanne chose instead to tear into her roll and dip it in the stew the cooks had served for dinner.

She knew her maman would’ve found her letter by now, she should be back from Val Royeaux, warming herself by the hearth and reading about why Jeanne felt she had to leave. Hopefully she wouldn’t try to come here and take her back. Jeanne bit into the soaked piece of bread. Well, at least the stew wasn’t horrible.

Could be better seasoned though.

“You, noble girl.” Jeanne didn’t look up from her bowl, dipping her spoon and eating some. “Hello? Mademoiselle?”

At this Jeanne lifted her head, not hiding her disinterested expression on her face. It wasn’t like anyone could see it anyway, how many times would she have gotten in trouble for how poorly she hides her feelings? “What?”

“I saw you in the training yard with Wardens Louise and Burdot, were you really going to slap her?” A boy no older than her had slid down the bench; she recognised him from the yard, the one that held his shield too low. She could see his friends looking back and forth between them, she shook her head and took another sip from the stew.

“She was being rude.” Was Jeanne’s curt answer as she tore off another piece of her roll.

“I don’t think I would’ve had the balls to try that on her… merde, you’re lucky Burdot stepped in when he did.” The boy chuckled, taking another drink from a tankard she could only assume was mead since he had the courage to speak to her.

“Was I?” Jeane chewed the roll slowly watching the boy as he nervously took another sip from his tankard.

“I’ve seen the Warden Constable take on at least ten recruits when she wanted to show what a Warden could do.” He chuckled a little before clearing his throat as she stared blankly at him. “I don’t think you would’ve lasted long is what I mean.”

“Hm.” Was Jeanne's response as she sipped from her stew again. The boy looked back to his friends who had more or less moved on from watching him. They were busy talking about who would be taken out on a patrol next.

“I’m Andre, by the way. Not sure if I introduced myself earlier.” The boy tried his best to put on a casual smile and stuck his hand out. Jeanne looked up from her stew, glancing between the boys outstretched hand and that ridiculous smile on his freckled face. “And you are?”

Jeanne put the rest of her roll down next to her plate, and brushed the crumbs off of her hand before reaching across the long table and shaking his hand. She couldn’t be closed off to everyone, maybe having an acquaintance would help through training. It wouldn’t hurt to be just a little friendly. “Jeanne du Lac.”

The boy’s smile faltered just a little bit as she said her last name. He let go of her hand and ran his hand through his mop of dark red hair. “Ah I see now why Burdot’s so interested in you then.”

“What?” Jeanne’s grey eyes narrowed as she watched the boy shake his head and take another drink from his tankard.

“Damn nobles get everything don’t they?” Andre seemed to say with a little bit of bitterness in his voice. “Ah well, I’d say see you at training but looks like you’re being trained separate from the rest of us. Better for you anyway, I’d hate to see what kind of drill Warden Claude would put you through after that stunt you pulled today.”

Jeanne didn’t say anything, instead choosing to tear another piece of her roll.

“Right, well see you in the barracks then, mademoiselle.” Andre slid back to his friends further along the bench, leaving Jeanne alone again at her small empty section, staring into her stew.

Why did Warden Burdot want to see her in the morning?


	2. 2

“What is it, Burdot?”

He smiled at Jean-Marc, who pulled back a little. “I’m taking your patrol. You’re taking the latrines.”

“What? Why - who would approve such a thing!” 

“Louise, of course.” Burdot shook his head chidingly at the younger man. “You fool, what do you think happens when you decide to use her to prank a foolish girl? We are Wardens, and that does not reflect on the Order. Or sense.”

Each word, delivered in the same tone any governess would use, managed to puncture his puffed pride a little further. There was a shuffle of movement and flash of silver further down the hall. It was likely said ‘foolish girl.’ He switched from Orlesian to Anders. Jean-Marc had spent a year in Hossberg, he would understand well enough.

“You know better, or should,” he said briskly, one shoulder against the cool limestone wall. “This will help you remember. If she proves herself, she’ll be a Warden as well.”

_ “Her?  _ She’s just another…”

The man stopped talking. Ah, Jean-Marc realized he’d stepped into something worse - or would have, if he bothered to care about issues of class.  _ That,  _ he’d long since gotten beaten out of him. Jean-Marc would as well.

“Just another  _ what?  _ Disgraced minor noble with no prospects?” He rarely used the rest of his name, but it was still on the roster. Burdot  _ du Lac,  _ a family he’d almost driven into penury thanks to foolishness in the Game, and a mask he’d had melted down to make the hilt of his sword. “Enjoy your morning.”

Then he turned to see that the girl, Jeanne, was there. “Bon matin,” he said easily enough. “Your boots will do for today - the cloak and mask, however, will not. They will both stand out too much.”

The girl hesitated, her fingers twisting in her cloak for a few moments before reluctantly moving to the ties of the mask. She slipped it off and held it in her hands. Merde, she was even younger than he’d thought. “There, not a problem. I assume the dress isn’t appropriate as well?” 

He couldn’t help but smile a little. She may have no skills, but she had spirit. “Perhaps not, but it will do well enough unless you wish to change. This patrol isn’t into deep forest.”

“Then there’s no need to delay any longer. I assume we’ll be armed?” The girl touched the hilt of the sword she carried, it was a bit garish and too big for her.

She couldn’t  _ use  _ the sword, either. That, she’d proved yesterday. He shrugged. “Of course.” They shouldn’t encounter anything. This was less because patrols were needed than because Warden-Constable Louise and the Warden-Commander knew just how much trouble bored Wardens could get into. That was why there were crews working on repointing the fortress itself, as well as all the little errands and exercise. Drill simply was not enough. “Come.”

He turned and walked along a side passage to reach the kitchen, the large hearths pouring heat despite the early hour. He avoided the careful dance of the cooks to reach the table with baskets and trays already set out, grabbing four of the heavy rolls. He tossed one to Jeanne as he withdrew just as carefully, sticking two into a pocket.

She caught the roll, fumbling just a bit before shoving it into one of her dress pockets. At least her reflexes weren’t too awful. She walked a quick pace behind him, taking time to tie her long hair out of the way. “You said we aren’t going to the deep forest, then… where are we going?”

“West a few hours, looping back around.” That was why Montsimmard had mostly grown up to the east of the fortress - there were still occasional darkspawn that showed to the west - though usually several days’ journey out. He munched on his roll after answering, enjoying the spiced venison the cooks had used this time. “We’re staying close, no need for horses.”

How many days yet til Riordan returned? Five or seven, at least. Then they could see about a real patrol, after Riordan’s little ducklings were fledged.

He could feel Jeanne staring at him as they walked through the fortress. They were in the courtyard now, the gates just a hundred feet away. “How long have you been a Warden?”

“A dozen years or so. I Joined later in life.” He nodded at the gate-warden, then finished his roll. The others, he’d save for later. “I had skills the Order found useful.” Perhaps that would be a hint to her.

“Were you a chevalier?” The girl asked, more interesting in knowing more about him than talking about herself. Unusual for a noble girl.

Ah, the past. He turned from the road, wending his way through the field. “No,” he said shortly. “I was not.” He’d never had the patronage to become a Chevalier - but then again, it hadn’t taken him long to realize he would not have done well among their ranks. ‘Honor for some’ had little appeal, no matter the quality of instruction. “Wardens come from many sources. Once you go through the Joining, your past no longer matters. Whether you were the Grand Duchess herself, slave, thief, or anything else - we all become Wardens.”

He relaxed as he lengthened his stride to a comfortable pace, breathing in the cypress. Jeanne matched him well enough - well, if she’d walked here, she wouldn’t be lost. He glanced sideways at her: she had a line across her lower face from where her mouth had tanned but not her cheeks.  _ The mark of a noble disgraced.  _ He knew it well. Instead of attempting to start conversation, he let his concentration disperse. The tingles of the other Wardens in the fortress would fade soon, and then he could listen for darkspawn.

“They say that wardens' lives are short, with or without the blight… is this true?” The girl broke the silence, he turned his head back to look at her just a few steps behind. Ah that question.

He shrugged. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten it. “Short compared to what? The elf in the alienage, cut down by a bored Chevalier? Villagers lost to darkspawn or bandits? We live to fight the darkspawn, and no warrior needs to fear dying of age. If you fear death, then you should go home now.”

“I saw my own father choke to death on his blood, Senior Warden Burdot.” The girl’s voice never wavered as she spoke. “Any fear of death I had is gone. But I’d rather die with a sword in my hand than having a child or so old that I can’t get up from my own bed.”

Burdot nodded his head briefly in respect for this girl’s father - that she saw it meant something. “We lead hard lives, yes. But I am not the oldest Warden. I’ve also seen many die younger.” He paused talking for a bit as he led them up one of the steep hills, the rocks that jutted from the turf forming a convenient if awkward staircase.

“Maybe I should’ve changed out of the dress.” The girl muttered as she followed him up the turf

It wasn’t much further until he reached apex - this hill flattened on the other side, making a rather pleasant training area, for just one or two. It even had a little spring off to one side. For the moment, he was more interested in the old ash tree that tended to drop branches. “Relax a moment. The water is drinkable, if you’re thirsty.”

While the girl did whatever she would, he found a few branches that were about two fingers’-width. He snapped them over his knee to get four pieces that were forearm-length, then brought them back. “Help me strip these, and then we’ll see about your skills.”

The thinner branches coming off the pieces he wanted tore easily enough. Burdot knew the practice sticks they were making without her awareness wouldn’t take any real impact, but that didn’t matter. For all he said ‘test your skills,’ he suspected she had just as much skill with knives as with the sword at her hip.

The girl took the branches setting them across her knees as she sat on a rock. Her hand reached for a plain dagger attached to her belt. A plain hunters knife, nothing as gilded as the sword she had. He glanced up at her every now and then as he was stripping his own branches. Her skill with a knife was better than the sword but not by much: she made short shallow cuts trying to peel the bark off of the branch but she was quicker than he thought at least.

Once they were done, he pulled off his swordbelt and laid it to one side. “When you’re ready,  _ mademoiselle?” _

The girl placed her knife back onto her belt before taking it off and placing it to her side. She got up from the rock and gave a few swings with the branch she’d stripped before nodding and looking back up at him. “Ready.”

“Both of them, if you please. Like this.” He held them at one end, feeling the weight against his palms. “A drill I learned when I was a recruit, by someone blessed with speed over strength. He insisted it was more effective than the weapon I came in with.” Oh, Riordan. That careless smile had long since been worn down by constant vigilance, but the words were still useful.

The girl nodded again, taking the other branch into her empty hand. She held them just as he did but her footing was all wrong, too far apart. “Like this?”

She  _ was  _ listening. That put her above the usual young, barely-noble idiots who saw the Wardens as  _ romantic.  _ Andraste help him, he’d had to deal with far too many of those. He took a deep breath, enjoying the afternoon air, then moved over toward her.

“Close. Your feet - well, you should feel the balance is off. With two weapons, you need to be light. Ready to shift at a moment’s notice. Mirror my actions.” He held his sticks up into an easy, ready stance.

Jeanne matched him, and he nodded. “Light contact. I want to see how you adapt.” He knew how to work with prickly tempers. After all, Riordan had put up with  _ his,  _ as had Duncan, Louise...so many others. A two-stick drill wasn’t the simplest, but she was trying to become a Warden. Burdot kept his shoulders relaxed and moved to tap her sticks - first the top, then the bottom. “They should flow like water. Angle them, you’re not trying to bludgeon through. It is a drill.”

This would also wear her out, but she should have more stamina than with the heavy practice sword yesterday. 

“You still haven’t told me where you learned this technique, Senior Warden.” Jeanne asked as she knocked against his. 

They were going at a slow speed, she still needed to get used to the pattern. She favored her left hand - that was unusual. Her right was just a little too slow which Burdot took advantage of, landing a blow on her right side. Jeanne grimaced as she tried to pick up a little more speed.

He smiled slightly and kept going. “Close, Relax your wrists. I learned this from a...friend of mine. I like the sword. He liked something faster, he said.” The man’s voice softened from the lazy formality he’d kept up. “It requires quickness of wit and a good eye. There is also that learning the sword takes years of practice and training muscles. This, he said, trained the mind.”

“Sounds like a clever man.” Jeanne commented as their sticks clashed together again. Her wrists need to be loose, less formal. She bit the inside of her cheek. She breathed in deeply as he kept himself at a comfortable pace. The rhythm of their blows was calm and measured, the flow of it all well,  _ he  _ was able to keep the flow. She was trying, but that was the kindest thing he could say.

Then Burdot stepped back and broke the rhythm. “Not bad. But it’s time to eat. The water here is also good.”

He turned toward the stream, splashing water on his neck then cupping his hands to drink deeply.

“No one else comes here, if you wanted to wash.” He turned his back to the stream and laid out the extra stuffed bread he’d brought on his cloak.

**

“Good to know.” Jeanne mused as she sat beside the river, cupping her hands to drink from it and using what was left to wipe her brow clean from sweat. “How’d you find this place? On a patrol?”

Burdot chuckled. “In a manner of speaking.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

“It’s a pleasant place that’s not too far from a common path we use for patrols,” he continued easily, “has water, shade, and a clearing. Riordan and I come here often, and we are far from the only Wardens who do. It’s where I learned to fight with sticks, then daggers. The style, I’ve been told, will even work for small swords with only a few changes. It’s a useful skill to have. We all try to learn what different weapons we can. You never know, with darkspawn.”

“That's a good idea. I doubt chevaliers think that far ahead.” Jeanne smiled as she bit into a roll. It was surprisingly good, light and fluffy like the ones from that bakery down the street from the shop.   
“Darkspawn even less so, most of them.” He made a noise as she stared off into the distance, then shook his head and started eating his own roll.

“Have you ever faced a horde of them before? I have to admit we don’t hear much about Darkspawn in Vallum.” Jeanne asked as she tore another piece of her roll. “Are they as horrifying as the stories?”

Burdot shrugged, taking another bite from his roll, turning his gaze to the river. Jeanne bit into her roll reluctantly. Was it that difficult of a question to answer? A simple yes or no would do. Or maybe not. But still, she deserved more than just a shrug.

This was how Burdot would end up answering most of the questions she had while they trained.

“How do you find darkspawn?”

A disinterested shrug and a whack on her arm.

“By paying attention.”

“What happens during a Joining?”

Another whack, this time on her back as he sidestepped around her lunge.

“Keep training, you’ll find out.”

Eventually she got the hint. Not every question will be answered. By the Maker she knew the order was full of secrets, but this was ridiculous. She kept the questions in the back of her mind, hoping to get answers for them one day. She wasn’t sure if her frustration was making her improve during training but she noticed that Burdot did seem to think was improving, at least whatever those stupid little nods meant whenever she managed to block a blow. Sometimes she’d even see his moustache twitch in what she chose to believe was a smile.

She couldn’t tell if she should be angry that each nod, each smile, mattered. But somehow she kept waking up and joining him on ‘patrols’ that were clearly nothing more than an excuse to come to the clearing and train some more...and sometimes even get a question or two answered.

The biggest one she had was “why me?”. Why take her out to this clearing? Why train her and not one of the other recruits? Of course whenever she actually wanted to ask that question something twisted in her gut, so she didn’t. Maybe eventually Jeanne would actually ask, once that twist in her gut didn’t bother her so much.

**

Thus the week went. The clearing was a place of solitude from a painful morning through a lunch where Warden Burdot was gradually opening up about Darkspawn and the Wardens - though he’d shut down quickly enough when she asked about his life before, or if she touched on something that he wasn’t willing to discuss. ‘Wardens and their secrets’ was more true than she’d given the rumors credit.

“So,” a dry voice interrupted them before Burdot could answer her latest query, “the stories I heard at the chateau were right. You  _ have  _ taken a fledgling under your wing.” 

Before she could bristle at how painfully  _ Ferelden  _ the voice was, Burdot had stood with a laugh and met the stranger halfway between the trees he’d emerged from and where the two of them had been eating their lunch.

The two men embraced closely. “Riordan, you dog. You were days overdue. I figured you’d finally gotten too slow and the genlocks stopped what you call humor for good.” Despite ‘dog’ usually being an insult, Burdot’s voice was far from rude.

Jeanne watched the display for a few moments, not wanting to interrupt a lovers embrace. She got up after they ended their embrace, waiting for Warden Burdot to introduce her. Or should she introduce herself now? The lack of formality around the wardens still confused her. As if this Riordan had sensed her hesitation, he cleared his throat before gesturing to Jeanne.

Burdot snorted. “Yes, yes, this is my ‘fledgling.’ Our fellow Wardens clearly need more to do, if they are gossiping that much. Jeanne du Lac, Senior Warden Riordan.”

“Warden Burdot has spoken very highly of you, Warden Riordan.” Jeanne bowed her head a little in respect for the higher ranking Warden. “Though he didn’t mention you were from Fereldan.”  _ Or his lover. _

The other man’s lips creased for a moment in his own smile. He was slight, though there was no doubt he had plenty of strength. All the wardens seemed to. Dark hair, grey eyes - he’d be utterly unremarkable as yet another middle aged man were it not for a quiet poise and the leashed intensity that seemed to be a trait of wardens. “I imagine not, madmoiselle _du Lac_. Then again, most wardens don’t care where you are from.”

Before she could bristle at the emphasis placed on her last name, Burdot snorted quietly. “Not once we have sense beaten into us, at least. In either case, I’m glad you’re back - and not just for my own peace of mind. Jeanne has gotten more proficient than I’d have expected in so short a time with two sticks.”

“And you don’t want to teach her wrong,” the other continued the sentence easily in his own sandy tenor. “I see.” Now it was  _ her  _ turn to be studied before his eyes flicked back to the cloak on the grass. “You were eating - it can wait until later this afternoon or tomorrow?”

“No need, I was just about finished before you arrived.” Jeanne brushed the last of the crumbs off of her before looking back up at the Fereldan. “That is if you would prefer to rest after your journey?”

“Since my partner has decided to take you under his wing,” Burdot snorting again at the metaphor, but not interrupting, “I would like to see what you know first. The morning would be early enough for that. It was a long journey.”

Her - mentor, she supposed - chuckled and pulled his arm from around Riordan’s waist. “You could say that. You smell like a dog, too.”

“Then I shall go. Until later, mademoiselle.” 


	3. 3

Jeanne held the two practice swords in her hands, they had switched to them from the sticks a few days ago. She needed to get used to the feeling of their weight in her hands. This time, though, they weren’t in the clearing. Burdot hit her on her shoulder, snapping her attention back to him.

“Pay attention to your opponent. I am the one trying to kill you. Others are secondary.” He began moving, his wrists turning easily as the heavier wood targeted her sides.

“My mind was elsewhere, it won’t happen again.” Jeanne said, her eyes flicking toward the empty entrance of the courtyard as she turned against Burdot’s blow, blocking it with her swords. “Do you know why he said my name like that?”

Instead of answering, he started moving, forcing her to pay attention to footwork as well as what their arms were doing. This wasn’t like his first ‘test’ of her swordsmanship - he was keeping his movements at a steady tempo, if a challenging one.

It was the shadow watching them who gave a dry huff.

“Later, Riordan.” Unlike her, his breathing hadn’t changed yet.

“As you will.”

As difficult as Burdot’s studied reserve was, at least he was  _ Orlesian.  _ Somehow, the casual way Riordan leaned against the wall and folded his arms was worse. He’d been well-mannered before and hadn’t done anything, but…

He was Ferelden. And not even what passed for ‘nobility’ there, not with an accent like that. He just leaned there against that wall looking at them with that… that look on his face.

“I said pay attention.” Burdot moved to the side while dodging her blows.

Jeanne tried to refrain from scowling as she heard the Fereldan chuckled lowly. She breathed in deeply, trying not to let the audience affect her. Raising her longer sword she blocked Burdot’s lunge using her shorter one to guard her side as she moved closer.

“Now you’re paying attention.” Burdot’s mustache twitched again, it almost made Jeane grin.

Jeanne was never really sure what the goal was during these training sessions, how many times she needed to land a proper hit for Burdot to move on to the next part of her training, how long she needed to hold onto her swords or sticks without being disarmed, how many hits she needed to block.

There was a rhythm here, but it wasn’t one she fully understood. It was like when she was little and she used to watch the lord’s daughters learn how to dance. It was something that took an innate understanding of how to move around the other person. She couldn’t be still, she needed to be balanced as she moved back and forth.

“Arret,” the word sounded from the side. “You’ve pushed too fast,” Riordan said reprovingly at Burdot. “You’re lucky I came home when I did, mademoiselle.”

Burdot merely snorted as his lover came closer and clucked his tongue. That was when Jeanne noticed that it  _ wasn’t  _ just the three of them in the chateaux courtyard.  _ Of course it wasn’t.  _

“Watch, if you will, lass.” The Ferelden term slipped out but he continued before she could bristle, drawing daggers from his hips. “You don’t need the swords, not yet. Foolish man. You know better.”

For a moment she thought he was challenging her. Then Burdot snorted. “Trying to show off, old dog? Very well.”

Jeanne moved out of the way, her eyes fixed on the two men.

The lazy intensity Burdot had been showing with her shifted to something far sharper as his lover moved. Both of Riordan’s daggers were fore-hand - he was holding them just as Burdot had taught her, but if anything even more loosely. 

The pace she’d grown accustomed to didn’t last for long. Despite the Ferelden Warden having two feet less reach, it also didn’t seem to affect his defense. They started moving more quickly, the live steel of the daggers flashing in the morning sun.

“You’ve grown soft, Fox.”

Burdot snorted back. “Try me with a single sword. Point.” A faint trickle of dark scarlet showed against his wrist.

Two points. The third went to Burdot, fourth to Riordan..fifth to Burdot, and then the next flurry were all for the Ferelden as he pushed the pace and slipped inside Burdot’s guard again and again. She’d had no idea it was possible to move so fast.

By the end, both men were panting. The blood spotting Burdot didn’t seem to bother him, even if his practice blades didn’t leave corresponding marks. The handful of other Wardens around murmured, laughed, or traded comments as they headed about their own routines, the fun over.

_ “That  _ is what you need to learn.” Riordan spoke to her directly. “You won’t have the reach on him - or a Hurlock. Slip inside it. Practice against someone with daggers when you need to learn how to handle a Genlock’s cunning. They’re not intelligent, but that doesn’t keep them from knowing some tactics.”

“Riordan. Are you…”

The man turned back to smile at Burdot. “If she’s managed from the nothing you said to get here, then yes. I’ll recommend her to the Warden-Commander.”

His eyes settled on her, their grey darker than she’d anticipated. The humor and tension had vanished, replaced with something more somber.

“Are you certain, lass?” His voice was quiet. “It’s a hard life.”

“I know.” Jeanne replied, quickly replacing a grin on her face with a more serious look. Did it matter if the warden were noble heros? That they took in anyone with enough skill to prove themselves? That they were secretive? Maybe it would’ve mattered to the little girl that dreamed of following in her pere’s footsteps. Of becoming a famous chevalier. But not to her. Not here and now. “But I want it.”

“Louise?”

The Warden-Constable snorted. “If she can keep her temper in check enough to learn from you, Riordan. We don’t have time for delicate sensibilities.” Her voice gained slowed some from its brisk coarseness. “She’s stuck it out, and it wasn’t because of the family connection.”

Jeanne’s ears pricked. There it was again. The twist in her stomach. She glanced at Burdot to see if she could read anything from his face, hoping that for once his stoic exterior would falter just a little bit so she could ask the question that’s been on her mind since her first day at the Chateaux.

“You know better than that, Warden Constable.” His voice was flat.

“If not, I certainly did,” Riordan stepped into the conversation. “As it is, are all recruits hunting Darkspawn first?”

Jeanne looked down at the sword instead, tightening her jaw almost reflexively. It wasn’t the time to ask about it. She studied Burdot a little more carefully as Riordan spoke with the Warden Constable. A family connection? He was taller than Pere was and his shoulders were broader. Besides the dark hair there was nothing similar between them. Maybe under his beard? Her eyes flicked back to the Fereldan and the Warden Constable.

The woman grunted. “No, and you know it. Not enough around here. It’s why we sent you out so far.”

“With the three who were ready, yes. It took longer than I would have expected.”

Jeanne crossed her arms, waiting for them to mention anything regarding when this would be taking place. Her heart was a little saddened that she wouldn’t be facing a darkspawn head on. At least to see if they were the terrifying beasts her mother used to scare her with. But even if they were, she knew she wasn’t ready to face one so quickly, not with how Warden Riordan spoke of her progress.

Good enough to Join, not good enough to fight.

That thought made her grind her teeth.

“Jeanne,” Burdot’s quiet voice broke into her musings. “Come with me and talk.”

Jeanne glanced back at the Fereldan and the Warden Constable, still speaking about his mission before looking back at Burdot and gave a small nod, following him out of the courtyard.

“What is it?” Jeanne knew what it was, she just wanted him to say it. To say something instead of being so guarded all the time.

The man shook his head. “You think you were judged unworthy? The opposite. It’s not common to offer entry to the Wardens without proving yourself. You have.” A faint smile fanned the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes. “Not many would keep asking for the training you have, or shown your progress.”

“And do all recruits get the benefit of your help?” Jeanne eyed him, crossing her arms. “Or was I a special case?”

He responded with a real chuckle. “Not many recruits would try to strike the Warden Constable at first meeting. It was that or send you on your way. You wanted to come Join so badly you walked weeks. I wanted to give you a chance to prove yourself. That was all. The Joining,” he shifted the subject, “will likely be in the morning. They usually are. You have tonight to decide if this is truly the path you wish to follow.”

Jeanne sighed, shaking her head a little. Still not the answer she wanted. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

“I didn’t think you would.” His eyes softened as he put a hand on her shoulder. “Now, please excuse me; you should have some time to meet your fellow recruits. The day is yours.”

Jeanne watched Burdot leave, going back to the courtyard where Riordan no doubt waited for him. How was it that that man could praise her but at the same time not realize how frustrating he could be. She turned around and went towards the recruit barracks. Maybe some of the recruits would want to celebrate in town.

**

Any Warden was welcome to come to a Joining, but only a few did. Here there was no need to hide what was happening, or what the Joining entailed. Riordan, Jean-Luc, Marissa, Louise, and Franz were present to welcome the newest Wardens.

He didn’t care about the others - just Jeanne. Riordan said the three who went with him were good, and the others were promising as well. This time, none of the recruits attempted to flee when they found out what the Joining entailed, though his protege’s eyes widened at the mention of the darkspawn blood.

“Join us, brothers and sisters, in the shadows where we stand vigilant.”

Marissa’s voice was steady enough, though it broke in places. They always did. Being a Warden was a cruel business, and those youngest were closest to the first of the cruelties.

“...and know that one day we will join you.”

The room they used for the Joining was deep inside the chateaux. While this was to keep any from happening across one of the Order’s greatest secrets, it also meant that the scattered clouds outside were lost to shadows of the Wardens’ own making, dancing in torchlight. It was a dark business, and a dark world they walked into.

The taste of magic was in the air, layers of ancient spells used since the first Joining lain on top of one another by few mages in the order. The magic joined in unison with the foul smell of the darkspawn blood Riordan had brought back. He glanced at his lover, as stalwart as ever as he watched Marissa approach his first recruit with the silver Joining Chalice. Merde, this is why he never took on any recruits.

The first recruit took a shallow gulp from the chalice. How deep they drank did not matter. As soon as the blood was on their tongue they would be changed forever. Alisse took the chalice from the recruit’s hands quickly as the young boy clutched at his head, Jean Luc stood nearby, ready to catch the boy if he fell over. Most did. The lad clutched his head in his hands, ah yes, that part. The boy's breathing was hard as he swooned from side to side.

“Careful lad, just breathe, you’ve made it through the worst of it.” Jean Luc grabbed the boys shoulders trying to steady him before pulling him out of the line. One Joined, three to go. Only one until it was Jeanne.

Burdot’s eyes flickered to his protege, dressed in Warden armor like the rest of them. No matter what happened she would be buried in that armor. He could only hope it wasn’t today. She watched as Alisse gave the chalice to the young woman next to her.

The young woman hesitated before taking the chalice and drinking from it. The cup slipped from her hands before being caught by the Warden Commander. The girl dug her fingers into her hair, her eyes going white as her mouth opened in silent terror. Jeanne reached out a hand to her fellow recruit before Riordan stepped in, pushing her away as the young girl collapsed to the ground.

A few silent moments passed as they waited for the girl to stop convulsing, all Joinings were different but some of the ones that failed were truly horrible to watch. Burdot’s gaze was firmly on Jeanne as she watched Riordan comfort the girl in her final moments. This part was always the hardest.

“I am sorry, Cynthia of Verchel.” The Warden Commander said, holding the chalice in one hand while offering the other to Riordan. He heard him sigh as he took her hand and stood back up, leaving the girl on the ground.

“Are-are you just going to leave her there?” The boy asked, standing up from the chair Jean Luc had led him to.

“The Joining must continue.” Riordan looked back at his recruit. “She will be put to rest when we are done.”

Burdot looked back at Jeanne, her face was pale as she watched the Warden Commander approach her with the chalice. 

He caught the girl’s eyes and lifted his chin slightly.  _ Do you want to give up?  _ He knew she couldn’t - but she didn’t.  _ When all else failed,  _ he thought with a bitterness that had eased into ironic humor over the years,  _ the du Lac bullheadedness would not. Give us a challenge, and we’ll chew through veridium to prove you wrong. _

As if she sensed his words, he saw her steel grey eyes harden as she sent him a small nod before taking the chalice from the Warden Commander. She breathed in deeply, he still remembered the smell of that chalice. Blood, wine, strange herbs he’d never smelled before or even knew the names of. The taste of lyrium. She took a deep drink from the chalice.

_ Survive,  _ he thought at her.  _ I’ll tell you what you want to know if you do. There will be no need to hide it any longer.  _ The least he could do was give his cousin’s daughter a chance to be more than the damned Game would let her.

That was, if he hadn’t killed her in giving her this ‘chance.’

Her eyes widened as she lowered the chalice, her breathing became heavy as she struggled to hand the chalice back to the Commander. Her legs shook as she tried to stand tall. She lifted her hand to her head as her eyes fluttered closed before she started falling backwards.

Two swift strides, and Burdot caught her shoulders hard enough to bruise, holding her steady. “Don’t you dare embarrass Phillipe’s memory,” he hissed in her ear. “You can do better. Prove yourself. No daughter of his would do less.”

Jeanne groaned as she tried to straighten herself. “So now you tell me what I wanted to know, huh? Maybe I should’ve feigned death sooner.” Her voice was small as she shook herself from her stupor.

“Warden Burdot!”

He ignored the tone in Alisse’s voice. “She lives, Warden-Commander,” turning his head enough to toss the words over his shoulder. In a lower voice, he murmured, “Later” to Jeanne. There would be a later, and that would be enough.

“I think you can let go now.” Jeanne murmured back, looking down at Burdot’s hands still holding tightly onto her shoulders. Burdot cleared his throat and let go of her shoulders, returning to his place beside Riordan who shot him an amused glance. He ignored it. That, too, could wait.

There were still two more to undergo the Joining.

**

The funeral was in the evening, before dinner was served. The Warden Commander had summoned the other Grey Wardens in the Chateau to one of the lesser used courtyards to observe the funeral rites and watch the pyre. Jeanne held the small pendant on her hand as she looked out at Montsimmard from the ramparts.

She hadn’t known Cynthia of Verchel, she had barely exchanged a sentence with her before they were led to the Joining Chamber. She seemed excited to be a Warden. She had cheerful eyes. She was the only one that hadn’t survived out of their group, Jeanne wondered if that was common, for there to only be one death? There wasn’t any reason she couldn’t ask now, since she was one of them.

Something to ask another day, she thought as she watched the summer sun setting over Lake Celestine. Burdot had been called away to help Riordan prepare Cynthia for her funeral. The crowd had thinned out a few minutes ago, Jeanne had left a little before that to gather her thoughts.

He said her father's name.

Well, at least she knew what side of the family he was from. The du Lac’s were never a large family. If they were she was sure her mother would’ve gone to them after her father's death instead of begging her grandfather to take her back. After all, he’d been furious at her for running away with a poor chevalier with barely any prospects.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs behind her disturbed her thoughts. Things were so much sharper now, she could feel someone approaching before she even turned around.

“It will take time,” he said as he leaned his elbows against the rampart next to her, “to adjust. The nightmares will ease.”

“There’s nightmares too? What of?” Jeanne’s brows knitted together as she turned towards him.

“The darkspawn. We...hear them, in a way.” Burdot sighed, still looking out. “If you want reassurance, you should speak with Riordan, not I. I didn’t think you would, though.”

“You know me well then.” Jeanne’s lips quirked up in a slight smile.

He chuckled. “I knew Phillipe. A good man, though as much of a hotheaded fool as the rest of the family. He was always determined to do things  _ his  _ way, no matter the consequence.”

“My maman doesn’t like to speak about him, she was there too when he died. But it’s nice to hear about him from someone who knew him.” She glanced between him and the city below them. “Did you write to each other often?”

“No,” he shook his head, “not often. But he would be proud, I think.”

_ As was he?  _

“I’m glad you think so.” Jeanne smiled, leaning on the wall of the ramparts, looking at the stone road she had walked up just a few weeks ago. “So does this mean we can go on actual patrols together now?”

He laughed out loud, though it was short. “You  _ are  _ a du Lac. Yes. Give Riordan and I a few days, and I’m sure we can arrange something.”

“I can’t wait.” Jeanne smiled slyly as she looked at the city, eager for what awaited her come morning.


End file.
